


The Hearts of Men, Like Seasons, Change

by WillowFaerie82



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Quiet Isle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3063011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowFaerie82/pseuds/WillowFaerie82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor decides it's time to go North; to find his Little Bird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hearts of Men, Like Seasons, Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Salsita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salsita/gifts).



> Exchange fic for Salsita for Sansa_Sandor LJ Holiday Exchange .

Sandor Clegane had dug his last grave. He’d been feeling the pull to leave for a fortnight. Elder Brother had counseled him about his options but he paid no attention. Sandor was going North. In another time, when he was a different person, he’d made a promise to a Little Bird. He was years late, but now Sandor intended to keep that promise. 

There wasn’t much change to the landscape around him as he traveled. Towns burnt and rebuilt; the cost of war. The biggest difference Sandor noticed was the sharp sour smell in the air no matter where he went. Dragon fire. The Targaryen girl had come back, had taken the vengeance Sandor figured she was due. He’d heard Casterly Rock had been razed to the ground. He hoped Clegane Keep had suffered a similar fate. He’d heard other rumors, the Stark bastard was a Targaryen; the Little Bird and her Imp husband had killed Joffrey; Lady Catelyn brought back from the dead roaming Westeros in search of her daughters. Sandor didn’t know what to believe. He just knew he had to get North. Because last he’d heard the Kingslayer and the Lady Knight had managed to get the Little Bird back to Winterfell. She’d been installed as Warden of the North until her brother came of age and could take on the responsibility. He made his way, slowly, through the burned out landscape. No reason to rush, and too many years stationary had left their mark. He wasn’t the man he had been; now clothed in brown robes and a drab, threadbare cloak where once he’d worn heavy armor. Elder Brother had allowed him to wear the robes of the holy order, even though he’d taken no vows; told him it would make his passing though the land a little easier. So far he’d been right. Sandor had been allowed to stay in inns, broken down, and low on supply as they were; for the price of a prayer he didn’t actually believe in.

Just over a moons turn after leaving the Quiet Isle Sandor found himself making his way into Winter Town. He hoped there’d be a room at the inn there. He didn’t relish sleeping in the stall with Stranger for the night. Sandor wanted to be well rested when he saw the Little Bird on the morrow. 

He sees the gates of Winterfell just after the sun has started peeking over the trees. The last time he’d been in front of the place his only thought had been ‘I hope they have enough Dornish red to slake my thirst.’ Now he finds his thoughts turn toward a sweeter red. The gates stand open and Sandor wonders at that only for a moment. Because before he’s even made it to the gate he sees a blur of dark cloak and bright red. It can only be her.

Sandor pulls himself from Stranger’s saddle and stands mutely as Sansa comes to a stop directly in front of him. Close enough to touch. He stops himself just before reaching out. Sansa is looking at him not with fear, hatred, or anger. It’s a softer emotion that rests on her lovely face. An emotion that Sandor’s forgotten the name of, if he ever knew it to begin with.

“Is it really you? Are you actually here?” Sansa asks on a breath. Sandor finds the words to answer her after clearing too many emotions out of his throat. 

“Yes, Little Bird I’m here.” Sandor considers taking a knee, even though his sword is tucked into its scabbard, attached to Strangers saddle. But it’s a fleeting thought as his arms are suddenly full. Sansa is clinging to him, breathing into his neck words that he can’t understand for they’re as much words as they are breath against his skin. 

She stills after a long moment, as if realizing just how bad this could look, and moves away. He misses her warmth almost instantly. When he looks at her she is smiling, it’s a small, tremulous thing; but he welcomes it nonetheless. There is an awkward moment where they look at each other both with too much to say, knowing too much time has passed for any of it to make sense. Sandor sees her shiver, even wrapped in her fur-lined cloak, so he clicks his tongue and calls Stranger to him moving toward the gate once again.


End file.
